


Strings of Fate

by shipskicksandgiggles



Series: Midnight Milkshakes [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Harley Keener-centric, Harley plays violin, Kinda?, Musician Harley, Peter Parker is a Good Bro, Peter is his roommate, Vow of Silence?, idk - Freeform, selective mutism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-18 08:30:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21741397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipskicksandgiggles/pseuds/shipskicksandgiggles
Summary: Music is a language that speaks for us in times of trouble
Relationships: Harley Keener & Peter Parker
Series: Midnight Milkshakes [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1635325
Kudos: 34





	Strings of Fate

**Author's Note:**

> this was a character study-type piece I did a while back. I may end up doing something with it at some point

Harley Keener is not a stereotype.

Sure, he came from the South, but he is not religious. In fact, he completely rejected the Bible when he came to New York the day he turned 18.

He hated country music with a passion. It didn’t sound good to him.

He loves classical. The only musical opportunities in Rose Hill consisted of brass instruments and percussion and shitty old guitars. Maybe a banjo if he was lucky. So he learned to play the piano.

Pianos are not portable. He learned to play violin and viola and cello. String instruments that weren’t guitars. He picked up music faster than anything else. Mechanics was easy too, but not like this. He spent his spare time in the old music store no one went to unless they wanted a guitar. The owner gave him the violin the day before he left. A parting gift.

He moved to New York the day he turned 18, and he never looked back. His mom was abusive, blamed him for his dad leaving all those years ago. Abbie was planning on the same thing he was, but going the opposite direction- to California. Their goodbyes were short, but no less heartfelt. They knew where the other would end up, but they also knew it was safer to have no contact. They’d find each other again when it was time.

Bus tickets were for the movies. He took the train instead. The only things in his suitcase were the essentials. Clothes, snacks, all the cash he had, and of course, his violin.

He played on the streets. Earned pennies for his music. Johann Sebastian Bach, Beethoven, Chopin, all played out for as long as Harley could stand on the corner. He moved from time to time. Learned where and when he’d earn the most. He pinched and saved until he could stop sleeping on the streets. Could room with a roommate.

Harley refused to speak. He hasn’t spoken since he got on the train all those months ago, and refuses to do so now. He communicates in grunts and nods to this new person. Peter Parker, student at NYU, a genius.

He still played violin late into the night to avoid coming home.

Couples dance for his slower pieces. He ends up in the background of countless pictures and videos, only to serve as the one-man-band to whatever moment they wanted to have.

He started witnessing proposals as the years went on. Winter ones were the prettiest in pictures. Autumn was the most practical, plus he liked the colors better.

He is still dirt poor. He considers applying to a music store, or even offering his card to play events.

Considers.

Peter Parker was okay. He decided this after 8 months of rooming with him. He didn’t care when Harley came home late, only that he was alive and made rent. Peter was also dirt poor.

He still didn’t speak.

Peter filled the silence.

Their arrangement worked.

Peter watched him practice some days. Offered pointers when he could. He didn’t know much about music, but it meant more to Harley that he cared.

They didn’t know much about each other. Peter knew nothing of Harley. No friends, relatives, past, even if he did have a voice. Harley knew little of Peter, had friends, no relatives, a past he refused to speak of. Peter still talked out science, his boss, his best friend, his ex that he ran into on the street that day, anything that came to mind. Harley likes the noise.

They never cross paths during the day. It wasn’t intentional, that’s just how life worked. Their moments were at home, personal.

That is, until they weren’t. Harley changed his route to hit a new corner. He didn’t know Peter walked that way to get to the subway. He stopped to watch. Smiled. Waved. Ran on down the street without another thought.

Harley smiles for the first time in weeks.

A man comes up to him to ask him to play a show in some building. Harley nods along, but declines. He was happy where he was for now.

The man came back a week later, this time with a woman in tow. He was on his phone, but he pushed her forward and she asked him to play something.

He did.

She asked for his number, for a gig. Named a price. It was a lot of money.

He still declined.

Another week passed and the man returned, no woman. He asked again. Harley gave in. Got the address. Showed up in a suit he found in a thrift store.

Peter was there. He hadn’t written anything in their apartment to tell him about it. He wondered how he knew.

The man was talking to Peter. Maybe they were friends. Harley didn’t question it. He played he part, got his check, and went home. Peter got home later, smelling of booze.

They didn’t talk about it.

Some days were better than others. Today was a Bad Day. Nightmares about his mother plagued him the night before. It was raining, and cold. He needed a new jacket. He couldn’t afford it. No one dropped money into his case.

He got stopped by muggers. He shielded his violin with his body, tried to tell them he had nothing. A weird sound scared them off, leaving Harley behind with bruises on his face and ribs.

Peter greeted him at the door and ran to get a first aid kit from the bathroom. He helped clean and bandage Harley’s face.

_ Thank you _ , he whispered. Broken with disuse.

Peter stared at him in shock. His first words in 6 years. 24 years old.

He brushed his hand against Harley’s face.  _ You’re welcome _ , he smiled. _ Maybe you’ll sing one day now that you speak. _

Harley laughed, a quiet thing. He still didn’t talk much, but he smiled.

He started composing. All his rage and sorrow and loneliness pushed through notes of a song only he knew.

Peter cried the first time he heard it. Not because he hated it. It was beautiful.

Harley started to heal, slowly but surely. He composed more, each one less gloomy than before.

Peter helped. He coached and prodded and listened to everything Harley worked for.

Their apartment was home. Harley felt loved for the first time in 25 years when Peter surprised him with a Christmas gift. A new bow. Harley cried.

He used it to play Peter’s gift, a piece he’d worked on while Peter was away. It rang of happiness and care and love. Peter cried too.

No one could have predicted this life for him. Not even him.

He was happy. He never wanted to go back to where he came from.

They struggled, but they made it through every single time. The man returned with another show, Harley had business cards made, got hired more.

Peter showed up at every single show.

Their lives were far from perfect, but they loved them regardless.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr at [with-this-pen-as-my-s-h-i-e-l-d](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/with-this-pen-as-my-s-h-i-e-l-d)


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